Nine To Five
Nine To Five • John Pollock
Flesh is fickle, flesh fails
Through no fault of your own, its form departs from you
Sprawling months of pain unfurl their sails
Rest only sedates, letting the sleeping dog lie, and renew.
Raked coals, glowing iron anguishes and burns
Youth’s sweet lips chew away the chunks of dying flesh
Raw nerve, inwards it turns
Weaving spilling holes in the gut, wounds so fresh.
The clock spirals round, seizing limbs taught as rope
City starlight litters the ground as vision fades to gray
Concrete jungles that prey on young hope
Groans, shudders, and shakes, bills I pay.
A silent creed bearing, no, gnashing its dull teeth
You’ll bleed all you’ve got and be laid far beneath.